


The (Not) Halloween Party

by libraryv



Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith, Strike (TV 2017)
Genre: Costume Parties & Masquerades, F/M, Kissing, Misunderstandings, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-27
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-09 06:20:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27220060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/libraryv/pseuds/libraryv
Summary: Strike decides to risk a fancy dress party at Nick and Ilsa's, because Robin. Why else? The trouble is, she's already on a date. To complicate matters, something happened the night before...
Relationships: Robin Ellacott/Cormoran Strike
Comments: 53
Kudos: 92





	1. What Happened Before

**Author's Note:**

> Okay. I know that Halloween is not a huge deal outside North America. But I've had an idea for a short little fic for awhile, and I wanted it during a party, and what better time of year than Halloween? So Nick and Ilsa are holding a fancy dress party, and it happens to be fall. So it fits the season, but it's not specifically Halloween. 😅

If Strike was being honest with himself, the real reason he had agreed to come tonight was Robin. 

He had a healthy dislike of fancy dress parties, especially ones with a theme. He also knew Robin was bringing a date. Earlier that week, over a shared pot of tea and an office meeting, she had mentioned a set-up, orchestrated by a friend.

Strike had done his level best to ignore the various feelings that this news had inspired. Whenever he heard Robin speaking with Ilsa on the phone, mentioning that David was an architect, (“I’ve always had a bit of a thing for architects, Ils!”) or that David had a dog (“it’d be so fun to meet Charlie!”), he had squinted at his computer screen, ignoring hot, uncomfortable stirrings of emotion.

He was careful not to examine anything too closely. Better not to reflect. 

Still. Robin’s warm giggle that floated into his office the other day, accompanied by a delighted, “David told me he can’t wait to meet me!” had hit him harder than he would've liked.

And that was how, despite his afternoon spent trudging around London in the October fog, despite the knowledge that Robin had a date, despite everything that had happened in the past twenty-four hours, Strike found himself outside Nick and Ilsa’s front door at nine o'clock on Saturday night. 

At a fucking costume party. 

*****

If Robin was being honest with herself, she hadn't ever been on a date this promising. 

David was funny, and he actually listened when she talked, unlike a few other dates from recent memory. It sure didn’t hurt that he was cute, with his burnt honey hair, warm brown eyes, and easy, wide open smile. 

His costume was a werewolf, but it was subtly and handsomely done; his hair fashionably messy, the plaid flannel over his t-shirt rolled up to reveal toned, golden forearms. For effect, he clearly hadn’t shaved for a few days, and the dark golden scruff covering his jaw was definitely attractive. 

Perhaps the best part was that as they danced, the music pulsing through Nick and Ilsa’s house and into Robin’s body, David respected her boundaries. His hands stayed lightly at her hips, and when she reached her fingers behind his neck, pulling him closer to shout in his ear for a break, he simply nodded, stopping at once and allowing her to lead him away.

The last chords of the song began to merge with the next, and Robin tugged him into the packed living room. She fanned herself in a vain attempt to cool off, and David gave her a tentative smile.

“I’m still stuck on your costume.” 

Robin tilted her head and put her hands on her hips, posing.

“Any more guesses?”

David looked her up and down, taking in her black tank top and short, black denim skirt, along with her face makeup, which was pale, accompanied by blackened eyes and dark lips. His eyes slowed at the chest of her shirt, across which scrolled white fabric letters spelling out, _T-H-A-N-K-S._ He gave a slow shake of his head. 

“Nothing beyond my original thought of ‘ghost.’”

Robin felt a touch disappointed. Maybe it had been a silly idea. 

Her expression must have betrayed her, because David rushed to reassure her. 

“Don’t tell me, I’ll guess it. Either way, you look fantastic.”

“I wish I’d thought of something a bit less warm, at any rate.” Robin lifted her sweaty hair from her neck. 

“Yeah, I might be regretting not coming as a lifeguard, which was my other choice” joked David, pinching the fabric of his shirt and holding it out away from him in an attempt to get some air on his skin.

“And a lifeguard costume would be...just a swimsuit?” 

He grinned. God, he _was_ cute.

“And not much else.”

She raised a playful eyebrow. 

“Then I might be regretting your choice as well.”

“I thought you two were going to spend the entire night there, dancing away.” Ilsa appeared at Robin’s elbow, wearing cat ears and painted whiskers, holding two cups filled with a fizzy drink and ice.

“Oh, thank God,” said Robin, reaching for the one Ilsa was holding out to her and taking a grateful gulp.

“There you are! Look who I found lurking at the front door.” Nick had joined them, scrubs covered in fake blood and ales in hand, kissing Ilsa on the cheek.

Behind him loomed Strike, dark hair mussed and sporting shadows of exhaustion under his eyes, looking too tall and large for the crowded hallway. He accepted Nick’s proffered beer, returned Ilsa’s embrace and allowed her quick kiss to his cheek as he glanced at Robin, then David. 

David eyed Cormoran’s usual trousers and collared shirt with competitive interest. "What are you supposed to be dressed up as?"

Strike lifted his bottle to his lips. "A private detective.”

Nick snorted, and Ilsa rolled her eyes.

“I’m sorry?” asked David, looking from Strike to Nick, smiling politely.

“No, _he_ is, for being rude,” interjected Robin, with a reprimanding glance for Strike and a quick smile for David.

Looking slightly chastened, Strike held out his hand. 

“Stupid joke; it’s been a long day. Cormoran Strike.”

David shook Strike’s large hand, his brow clearing then furrowing again. 

“Ah, Robin’s work partner.”

“Yeah.”

David’s glance traveled to Strike’s leg, then back up to his face.

“Didn’t realize you’d be so tall.”

“I’m not, really. That’s my costume.”

The group laughed, and Strike offered David a friendly grin that Robin could tell was a bit tight; he was obviously carrying some tension. Strike looked at her, and she couldn’t read his expression. She had to purposefully focus on what Nick was asking her.

“I’ve been trying to figure yours out, Rob. It’s a...ghost?”

She shook her head, and Ilsa studied her carefully. Robin could feel Strike’s eyes on her, and delicious heat bloomed low in her belly.

“A zombie?” hazarded Ilsa doubtfully.

Robin shook her head merrily. “Guess again.”

“Grateful dead,” supplied Cormoran.

"Right!" crowed Robin, who had been hoping he'd get it and wasn’t surprised that he did. As the group exclaimed, laughing, her eyes met his, lingering for a fraction of a second. 

Was he thinking of their goodbye last night, just as she was? Was he remembering her body flush against his, their lips meeting gently, his tongue leisurely seeking hers?

Robin swung her gaze back to Ilsa, laughing, and Strike took a long pull of his drink.


	2. What Happened After

_Christ._ He could hardly spend the entire evening shooting Robin loaded gazes. They had taken a step last night, and Strike was at this party because it was up to him to take another.  
The trouble was, she looked happy. David was annoyingly handsome and upbeat, and perhaps even more annoyingly, Robin seemed thrilled.

“Nick! That’s not a costume, mate, that’s just a Thursday night!” a man in his mid-thirties had come up behind Nick, a huge smile on his handsome face, rather at odds with his dark cloak and fake blood at the corners of his fanged mouth.

“Rav! I thought you had a late shift tonight.”

“I traded with Johnson. I’ll be pulling double overtime next week, it’s going to be _murder_.” 

There was an appreciative groan at this, introductions were made, and Rav and Nick began to talk eagerly. Ilsa inquired after Rav’s girlfriend, then corralled Nick and Rav towards the kitchen. 

David ran a hand through his hair, then beamed at Robin.

“I’m going to grab a drink. Want another one?”

“I’m fine, thanks,” she returned, giving him a smile that Strike felt deep in his chest.

And suddenly, it was just the two of them. Robin studied him above the rim of her cup.

“I thought you weren’t coming tonight.” 

“And miss all this? Doesn’t sound like me.” 

That earned him his own smile, and they both took sips of their drinks. He decided to indulge in a moment of petty jealousy.

“Daniel seems nice.”

Robin gave him an exasperated look that didn’t _quite_ hide the fondness in her eyes. 

“Cormoran.”

She took a step towards him. Her voice was soft, and he felt the energy between them shift. 

“Yesterday. In the office-”

She let the words linger, and the memory of the previous evening curled around them like smoke.

One moment he had been walking with her to the door, joking about the case, and the next he had bent his head to hers. It had felt inevitable. He had started gently, a brush of his lips to hers, but the second she had responded, opening to him and leaning her body into his, he doubted he would have been able to stop even had a gun been held to his head. 

He had taken his time, luxuriating in her, exploring the dip of her waist with his hand and gently meeting her tongue with his in unhurried, relaxed strokes. 

Then, suddenly, she had put her hand to his chest, and that _had_ stopped him. He heard Barclay’s tread and cheerful whistling in the stairwell, and they had pulled away from each other. Barclay swung open the door, and Strike wondered if Robin had stopped because of Barclay, or because Strike had crossed a line.

Now, in a house packed with people, with bass pounding so hard he could feel it in his throat, Strike wanted nothing more than to kiss her again. 

“I didn’t hear from you today.” 

“Robin, I know I should’ve-”

“Last night. Did you mean it?” 

He took a step closer to her, looking down into eyes that were a sea of blue-grey turbulence, and threw years of caution completely to the wind. 

“Yeah. And I’d do it again.”

She opened her mouth to reply, and David appeared at her elbow, already downing the last of his soda.

“Whew! Well, I’m ready for another dance. How about you?” 

“Absolutely.”

“Excellent. Nice to meet you, Cormoran.” David gave him a nod, then put his arm around Robin, turning her and leading them back to the dancing. 

_You didn’t want to complicate things_ , Strike reminded himself. _Then you went and bloody complicated them._

Robin gave him a last look over her shoulder, then let herself be tugged away, laughing at something David was saying into her ear.

Strike was left standing alone in the hallway and feeling a bit ridiculous. Beaten by a werewolf.

Fucking costume parties.

*****

A cursory hour of social obligation later, Strike was heading for Nick and Ilsa’s small garden, itching for fresh air and a break from small talk. He’d have a cigarette then head home; he was tired, and the long day had caught up with him. 

He reached the yard and stepped out into the cold; music and laughter becoming muffled as he shut the door behind him. A few people were scattered about, laughing in small groups. A couple dressed as pirates were snogging blissfully against the trellis in the corner. 

He sighed, bringing a cigarette to his mouth and lighting it. He blew a thoughtful stream of smoke into the autumn night. 

“I thought I might find you hiding out here.”

Nick came up beside him, and the two friends stood side by side in comfortable silence.

“I saw Robin leave with David, about half an hour ago.”

“Yeah, me too.”

Nick opened his mouth to say something, then shut it again. Strike could feel him looking at him, and Nick cleared his throat. 

“He seemed all right.”

Strike gave a noncommittal shrug, and Nick gave him a soft punch on the shoulder. 

“I’m glad you came tonight, Oggy.”

“Me too,” Strike lied, giving his friend a convincing smile that he didn’t feel. Nick stretched, then said, “better get back to hosting.”

He took a few steps towards the door, then turned back, grinning.

“A werewolf. Such a bollocks costume.”

Strike snorted and gave his friend a grateful wave of his hand, then faced the garden again. He took a last drag, then stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray on the table next to him. He’d had enough: time to call it a night.

“You look like you’re standing in your own personal nightmare.”

Robin was standing a few feet away, the lights spilling from the house reflecting the shine of her red-gold hair, a cardigan covering the letters on her shirt.

“I fit the theme, then,” he joked, trying to deflect from the agonizing flare of hope in his chest. He looked at her carefully. “I thought you had left.” _With David._

“I sent David home in a cab.” She sighed, her expression rueful. 

“I just turned down a very promising date.” 

He didn’t say anything. He seemed to have lost the ability to speak. He was aware of how close they had gravitated towards one another; he could see the movement in her throat as she swallowed.

“But…” she bit her lip, and Strike’s heart was pounding. 

“I couldn’t stop thinking about the one I left unfinished, last night.”

He still hadn’t said anything, and Robin tucked her hair behind her ear, giving him a challenging look. 

“Am I reading this wrong, or-”

Strike strode towards her and bent his head, catching the last of her sentence with his lips. 

Last night he had been sweet and tentative; now he was anything but. Her response was immediate, her mouth opening to his, and he cupped a large palm at the back of her head, deepening the kiss as his other hand stroked down her back, pulling her hips against him. His tongue swept into her mouth, and he was rewarded with her moan, her fingers tangling into his hair and tugging him closer. His hand on her back traveled farther, gripping her bottom, and she responded by rubbing against him. Pleasure was flooding his system, and the intoxicating euphoria of the kiss, of the need for Robin, was making him dizzy. Desire was rocketing through him, pulling at his groin, and he slowed down, aware on some level that they must be giving the other partygoers quite the show. 

He broke away, leaning his forehead against hers.

“Christ,” he exhaled, laughing slightly, and she grinned.

“What’s so funny?”

“I think I might like fancy dress parties.”

Robin’s answer was to put her hand on the back of his neck, and pull him down for more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You knew it wasn't going to be David. 😄 Happy Halloween!
> 
> P.S. A werewolf is NOT a bollocks costume, by any means. But what else did Nick have to work with?


End file.
